


sheer, incorrigible obstinacy

by lexicalacuna



Series: Desiderata [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Comfort, F/M, Future, Hubris, Hurt, Loss, Moved On, Moving On, Oswald is hurting, Pride, Prison Visit, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicalacuna/pseuds/lexicalacuna
Summary: A sequel to Blinding Lights.Oswald is in Blackgate.She pays him a visit before deciding she wants to do more to help him.Will Oswald relent?An exploration of how their relationship weathers their time apart.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Original Female Character(s), Oswald Cobblepot/Reader
Series: Desiderata [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782805
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write more of this series but I'm not sure which trajectory to take. 
> 
> So I've opted for both. This will be one of the story arcs that explores where Oswald/Your/OFC's relationship could go.

**COBBLEPOT SENT TO BLACKGATE**

She surveyed the headlines with pursed lips, reading about how Commissioner Gordon had decided to put Oswald behind bars after all,in light of the multiple atrocities he had committed through the years. She read every word carefully, all the while trying to ignore the blooming ache in her chest.    
  
It had been 2 years since his last visit.    
  
He stopped sending her money but made his presence known in other ways: her utility bill had stopped coming in, the gas attendant strangely inconsistent with his charges. Most prominently, the provisions store had become curiously generous, offering her a hamper of their finest goods every month.   
  
Black truffles, expensive, soft cheeses, candied nuts, wine, dried meats, jarred floral honeys and waif thin crackers one month, links of kielbasa and hefty cuts of wagyu & matsuzaka beef on others- produce that the store clerk claimed was a merely an expression of affection, since her aunt was a long time friend of hers. She always noticed the nervous laughs, the anxious wringing of their hands as they pressed the hampers to her. She always tried to offer them some of it, only to have them demur, sometimes playfully, sometimes fearfully, sometimes curt.    
  
She was always well fed, but alone. It was a miracle she had held out for this long, her sole source of income being her freelance writing pieces and well….Oswald.    
  
Even the thought of his name made her heart clench.    
  
Even after he was incarcerated, the hampers came, alway bearing new, exotic offerings.    
It’s only one day, as she grates luscious, thick curls of black truffle on her beef stew that she finds the resolve to pick up her car keys, her dinner hastily covered with a plate.    
  
\----   
  
She had heard bad things about Blackgate, but having seen the expose of Arkham Asylum by Valerie Vale, Blackgate’s visiting area seemed almost agreeable. The room was bare, save for industrial styled metal chairs and tables.    
  
The room was mercifully empty today (the only good thing that came out of the heavy snow outside), so at least they were going to have an ounce of privacy.    
  
She sits and waits, shivering a little in her sweater. Despite the sub zero temperatures, she was not allowed to wear a coat into the visiting room and had to take out her boots for a spot check before she entered. She quietly patted herself on the back for not wearing any jewelry, knowing the thorough spot check would have been more fastidious than airport security.    
  
She hears some doors opening and shutting, the clanging metal reverberating, heard from a distance away. She sat up a little straighter, readying herself for the moment, her heartbeat accelerating.    
  
As the door swung open, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.    
She had no idea what she was going to say, how he was going to react when he saw her, whether he wanted to see her, what did he feel about her coming to see him?   
  
As he comes into view, her chest tightens, her chair scraping back noisily as she stands up to greet him.    
  
His usually meticulously gelled hair fell in a black tangle of disarray about his face. One of his eyes was a little more red rimmed than she remembered, the iris now a shocking bright blue, the pupil permanently dilated. The other eye remained the same muted shade of seafoam blue she knew and loved-but both eyes betrayed his shock as he saw her, his expression torn.    
  
“Oswald,” she murmurs, swallowing thickly, moving towards him.    
  
He recoiled at her approach, turning away.    
  
“No,” he says curtly, turning away.    
  
She reaches for his arm, gently stopping him.    
  
He frozen, body still heaving from his heavy breathing, his face determinedly turned away from her.    
  
“Oswald, please,” she says softly, reaching for his face, gently turning it towards her.    
  
He stared back at her, his expression ashamed, abashed, defeated, tears already forming, his gaze averted.    
  
“Oh Oswald,” she says with a soft sigh, her thumb gently stroking under his eye, before she pulls him into a tight embrace, quickly pulling away as a guard barked them to maintain a safe distance.    
  
She reached for his hand, leading him to a table to sit, sitting across from him, mindful of the baleful, stern gazes of the guards. Oswald followed her reluctantly, his face still turned away.    
  
“Why are you here?” he asks brusquely, looking down at his hands, unable to bring himself to look at her.    
  
“I wanted to see you and…so I came here,” she replies softly, reaching for his hand before thinking better of it, gently folding them in front of her.    
  
“Well, here I am,” he responds with a bitter laugh, looking up, defiance tinged with shame.    
  
“Thank you for the gifts,” she says with a nod and a small smile, trying to figure out how to navigate this encounter, equally lost.    
  
He makes an incomprehensible sound of assent, turning away, still unwilling to meet her in the middle.    
  
“I’ve missed you, Oswald,” she manages, eyes flickering up, noticing the slightly softened gaze of the same guard who had chastised them earlier.    
  
She reaches forward, daring, grasping his hand lightly.    
  
He looked as though she had placed a live grenade in his hand, his expression shocked, uncomprehending, a soft trail of tears running down his cheek.    
  
“Please talk to me,” she says softly, gently stroking his hand.    
  
He inhales sharply, swallowing thickly before shaking his head, gently pulling his hands back.    
  
“You should not have come,” he said simply, his usually formal, cocky tone quavering. “There is nothing for you here. I have nothing more to offer you,” he says with a shaky laugh, a hand coming up to wipe away the tears.    
  
She sits still, silent, stung by his words but also at seeing him like this, a shell of the man he was at his last visit- draped in luxuries and grandeur. The man in front of her was a man defeated- resigned to his imposed incarceration.    
  
The silence is deafening and neither of them relent, the alienation of the years apart and their own pride and hurt preventing anything more from being said.    
  
She sits there and watches him for a few moments more, before she leans over the table, gently brushing his bangs aside to kiss him on the forehead, her heart racing at catching the scent of him, no longer cloaked by expensive musks. She lets her lips linger before she pulls away, gently squeezing his shoulder.    
  
“I’ll be back,” she says softly, moving to walk away, only letting the tears fall once her back is turned.    
  
Oswald does not look up until he hears the doors shut behind her, that is when he opens his mouth and yells, a loud, animalistic sound of hurt and regret.    
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof well- this chapter is full of the feels. Brace yourself. 
> 
> Also: I'm not very familiar with how parole works- my cursory Google dive revealed a tangled mess of information, so I've taken some...liberties, in my depiction of the system. Please forgive my ignorance and any technical mistakes or inconsistencies.

She spends the rest of the night researching Oswald’s history, his crimes, the conditions for parole, the prerequisites and how it would work, all the while nursing her forgotten bowl of beef stew, heated up so that the shavings of truffle disintegrated into the stew.   
  
She chewed absently on a tougher hunk of meat, brows furrowing as she tried to understand the wall of legal jargon that came with her new mission.   
  
\---   
  
It would take her weeks before she could see Oswald again- that’s how much time it took to get in touch with a legal representative, to speak to Commissioner Gordon and to secure his provisional clearance for a probation application. She had to corner him at his favourite diner, enduring his incredulity and surprise when she revealed who she was. Gordon had protested vehemently, brushing off her pleas until she leveled with him, explaining to him what he had meant to her, what he had been doing for her all these years. He listened, skeptical and disbelieving, only relenting when she turned to leave him be.   
  
She took time to catalogue his track record, to put together a comprehensive profile based on newspaper clippings, her own encounters...by then, she had accumulated a manila folder that was more than an inch thick, laying out the intricate legal jostling and finagling that it would take to secure parole for Oswald.   
  
Or at least to put parole on the table as an option. When she visits him again, excitement and apprehension embodied, she is greeted by disappointment when the guard informs her that he refuses to leave his cell, having put up a bit of struggle.   
  
“Between you and me, miss,” the guard ventured, his voice lowering slightly. “He was pretty upset after you left the last time,” he gives her a sombre, apologetic look before leaving her, the gate swinging shut behind him as she stares, uncomprehending, frustrated, disappointed.   
  
The drive back is a long one, choc a block with traffic, congestion and snow, snow, snow. Damn the snow. It slowed everything down.   
  
As she reached her 4th traffic light, she took the time to take a sip of her now tepid hot chocolate, the rich, heavy taste of the sweet drink leaving a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. She licked a drop away from her lower lip, glaring ahead at the red light, just visible through the snow.   
  
The sound of the radio static, coupled with the muted cacophony of the chugging traffic triggers something in her. She raises the cup to her lips, taking another tentative sip.   
  
That was when she took the next left, doubling back towards Blackgate.   
  
When she arrives back, it’s dark and the reception turns her away, saying that visiting hours were 5 minutes from being over. Midway through the monologue, something in her snaps and she slaps the manila folder down on the counter, her resolve smoldering.   
  
“Look lady, I took a two mile detour to get here, in this _fucking_ weather. So you can finish up your comics and let the topcoat dry as you give me ten minutes,” she says through gritted teeth.   
  
The abrupt transition between her tired, defeated tone and her sudden flare up startles the receptionist, who pouts defiantly, curling her fingers instinctively to hide her newly glossed talons.   
  
“Excuse me! I-” the receptionist sputtered, fumbling for a rebuttal when someone clears his throat, coming forward.   
  
“Give her a break, Peg, she’s had a tough day.” It was the guard from earlier, sweeping into the reception area, coming forward to pet Peg’s shoulders, trying to sway her.   
  
It took a few more solid minutes of cajoling and sweet talking before a suitably mollified Peg relents, her talons clutching onto a crinkly paper bag with the guard’s offering of a cranberry scone, immediately tearing a large chunk off, her bright pink lipstick dotted with crumbs. Peg nods at her, gesturing towards the door, smiling when the guard gives her shoulder a grateful squeeze.   
  
She waits for the guard by the door, letting him escort her to the waiting area.   
  
“Thank you,” she says gratefully, the words coming out a bit gruffly as she descended from the adrenaline rush, immediately remedying her gaffe with a small smile and a sigh, squaring her shoulders as she straightened up, gesturing for him to lead the way.   
  
He laughs, shaking his head, guiding her in.   
  
“Sorry for kicking up a fuss I just, I needed to see-” she began, trying to break the awkward silence, surprised when he holds up a hand, a small smile forming on his lips.   
  
“You love him, Penguin,” he says simply, his tone understanding, matter of factly, as if remarking on the weather.   
  
She pauses, the words sinking in, and she manages a small nod, not being able to meet his eyes.   
  
The guard laughs, a good, deep natured laugh, opening a gate for her.   
  
“No need for confirmation, honey, I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks back at you. You two have something going on,” he says with a small smile, shaking his head.   
  
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this- but that man has been even more miserable since your visit,” he continued, unlocking a door and nodding at his colleague, who looked confused but acquiesced when told to fetch Prisoner #93561 for a “sit down the warden. The last few words registers with the other guard, who nods, moving off.   
.   
She could not hide her surprise, her look questioning.   
  
The guard shrugs, leading her into the visiting room, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from her.   
  
“He keeps to himself usually, but after you left- man, it was like he was on a warpath. Everyone had to steer clear of him,” he said with a low whistle, shaking his head, hand reaching for his hip to reply to the crackling message on his walkie talkie, stating that the prisoner was inbound in a minute.   
  
She does not know how to process this, her mouth falling open slightly as she thinks about how to reply.   
  
The guard stands to move away, patting her shoulder. “I don’t know what it is about you two, but you mean something to him. His behaviour has been the most human I’ve seen in weeks. You have an impact on him.” He gives her a small wink before nodding behind her, the gates and the incoming hustle and fuss alerting her to his arrival.   
  
“If this is about earlier today, I highly doubt it warrants an audience with the warden. And even so, why would the warden be in the visiting area? This is preposterous- I _demand_ you take m-” Oswald protested vociferously, his tone ringing with indignance. He trails off, the struggle he was putting up abating as he regards her, inhaling deeply. He looks between the two guards in disbelief, trying to process what was happening.   
  
“Ten minutes,” his escort clarifies, before he closes the door behind Oswald. Oswald inhales deeply before moving to face her, planting both hands on the back of a metal chair, a broad, fake smile plastered on his face.   
  
When he spoke, his tone was deceptively cheerful and calm, much to her surprise.   
  
“You’ve gone through some considerable lengths to speak to me, I suppose. Well, here I am,” he’s looking at her now, his gaze intense, wide, as if it’s taking some effort for him to even face her.   
  
She meets his gaze, trying to stifle the hurt she felt from his brash response to her presence.   
  
“I have,” she says firmly, gesturing for him to sit, sighing heavily when he doesn’t, relenting and sliding the hefty manila across to him.   
  
“I’ve built a case, to get you parole,” she says simply, suddenly feeling a gnawing sense of regret. Suddenly being caught in a traffic jam did not seem so awful after all- it beat seeing his flippant demeanour towards her.   
  
Oswald’s curiosity is piqued and he picks it up, thumbing through the contents. She noticed that he angled his face slightly, his good eye doing the reading.   
  
“What happened to your eye?” she finds herself asking, internally kicking herself for not having more tact. 

  
He pauses, a heavy silence hanging in the air between them.   
  
“A grenade,” he says simply, exhaling heavily before he resumes thumbing through the file, his actions jerkier than before.   
  
When he’s done, he drops the folder back on the table with a loud thud, laughing slightly, shaking his head as he regards her.   
  
“You think your cute little Innocence Project rip off is going to get me out of here?” he says derisively, turning to pace. “Jim Gordon personally signed off on my incarceration papers, he’s not going to-”   
  
“I spoke to him,” she interrupted, grabbing the file and fishing out the crinkled form with Gordon’s reluctant scrawl at the bottom, endorsing a probationary inquisition into the possibility of a parole.   
  
Oswald froze, rounding on her, snatching up the piece of paper, studying the form and the signature as if it were a forgery. He slowly lowers the form, realization settling over him.   
  
“And let’s say- by a massive, gaping long shot- I get released, what happens next? You expect me to...follow you home? Play house? Pretend like all of this never happened?” he asks, slamming the paper back down, moving away from her, his tone acerbic, cutting.   
  
She doesn’t reply immediately, a muting numbness settling over her. It seemed like the past few weeks were for naught- all her research, the legwork- everything was for naught as he so cruelly threw her efforts back in her face.   
  
She breathed in deeply, feeling the beginning of tears prickling her eyes. She wills them to stay in, clenching her fist tightly, trying to maintain a sense of steadiness. The defiant part of her personality roared, wanting to cut back at Oswald, to cut him down to size.   
  
Yet….she glances up, noticing that he was waiting on her response, expectant, his expression questioning.   
  
Her gaze flickers back down and she takes a deep breath before speaking.   
  
“You said you loved me. Did you mean that?” she manages, her voice cracking at the last sentence, the tears on the brink of pouring down.   
  
This is clearly not the response he anticipates as he freezes at her words, his expression almost uncomprehending and he draws himself up straight, ready to rebutt.   
  
“Love is for the foolish. Gotham is a not a city that affords its citizens frivolities like love- well, not anyone who wants to survive or be anyone,” he replies coldly, his voice dripping with condescension.   
  
The same anger from earlier bubbles to the surface and she grits her teeth, frustrated as her tears finally fall, her temper snapping forth. “So explain to me why you’ve been sending me those gifts all this time? Paying my bills? You think I don’t realize that random cars swing by my home every now and then?” she replies harshly, her tone warbling, a steely strength belying her words.   
  
Oswald is slightly taken aback by her sudden outburst but quickly composes himself, dismissing this with a callous wave of his hand, a contrived snort. “A mere coincidence, I’m sure” he lies smoothly, his own obstinacy shielding his vulnerability.   
  
She stands up abruptly, moving to stand in front of him, looking up at him, straight into his eyes, their faces mere inches apart.   
  
“Then say it.” she says harshly, hiccuping slightly, her eyes puffy, watering, her visage tear stained and contorted with rage and defiance.   
  
“Tell me I was wrong, that you don’t, that you never loved me,” she challenges him, her voice miraculously steady, frigid.   
  
He stares her down, now visibly startled by her sudden show of emotion.   
  
He meets her gaze, swallowing thickly, letting a few long moments past between them. His mouth opens then closes, his head tweaking slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily as he manages a response.   
  
“I-,” he starts, his bravado faltering, his cocky demeanour temporarily punctured.   
  
She stares him down, waiting, her mind a wild rampage of emotions.   
  
“I-” he tries again, shaking his head, meeting her gaze, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he tries to force a response.   
  
But he cannot bring himself to deny it. Or to affirm it.   
  
They both know this.   
  
She inhales sharply, nodding. “Fine,” she says simply, her voice hoarse.   
  
She turns around, angrily snatching the folder off the table and storms out of the visiting room, slamming the gate shut, shrugging past the guard who was visibly alarmed at her tears.   
  
She doesn’t acknowledge Peg’s weak goodbye on the way out, hastily pulling on her coat, jamming the beanie back on her head as she trudges back to her car, her footsteps leaving a sludgy trail of snow and mud, leading away from Blackgate.   
  
She settles back in her car, instinctively reaching for her forlorn cup of hot chocolate, tipping it back, only to realize that nothing flowed forth- all that was left were the dried, congealed dregs of cocoa, leaving a dark streak on the inside of her mug.   
  
She closes her eyes and leans back in her seat, letting the tears fall freely.   
  
\---   
  
Oswald stares after her- the consequences of his arrogance hitting him hard as he allows himself to be led back to his cell, his mind temporarily blank.   
  
He tried to process what had just happened- being lured out of his cell, being offered a shot at parole, seeing her-   
  
His footsteps slowed, shuffling along slowly, letting himself be ushered and nudged along the corridor leading to his cell.   
  
He never thought he would see her again, let alone hear about what was virtually an impossible opportunity from her.   
  
He tried to recall the details in the folder- the pre-requisites, the factors considered for adjudication, the hearing schedules- but everything was just a mess of ink in his head.   
  
All he could see was the hurt and betrayal in her eyes when she confronted him.   
All he could recall was the warm, sweet scent of her when she stood close, a warm floral scent that he missed burying his nose in.   
  
He buried his face in his hands, not realizing that he too had begun to cry-   
All he could think about was his failure to step up and tell her that he loved her- that he never stopped. But he was a coward, a proud, cowardly fool who chose to protect his ego instead of embracing one of the few people in his life who had shown him unconditional love.   
  
If anyone had cared to look into his cell at that moment, they would not see a man deep in thought, just an amorphous silhouette, wracked with sobs and howling with regret.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of exposition that explores her emotions a little more.

When she reaches home, she tosses the manila folder aside, the chunky folder landing with a heavy thud. She strips herself bare and heads straight into the bathroom, tugging her hair loose from its ponytail, sighing as the water hit her skin. It was warm, verging on hot, a comfort after braving the weather and ride home from Blackgate.   
  
She reaches for a bar of soap, absently soaping up, taking a moment to notice how beautifully it lathered in her hand, how the oval shaped soap rolled so easily in her palm, generating a luxurious, fragrant lather. The scent of bergamot and ylang ylang washes over her and a tide of sadness rises abruptly in her chest, tears threatening to spring forth again as she was reminded of him, of the time they shared in the tub. She breathes in slowly, deeply, trying to suppress her tears, running the lather over her body, saddened and ashamed at the memory of his hands on her wet skin, palming the swell of her breasts-   
  
She sniffs, wiping away the tears and snot, grabbing a loofah to scrub away at her skin, the motions almost aggressive.   
  
She replayed the moment again and again in her head, his insufferable cockiness, his cold, flippant refutes and-   
  
The scrubbing slows, her hands absent mindedly wringing it dry, reaching for a few pumps of shampoo, working it into her hair.   
  
And yet she could see it in his eyes. The sadness, the longing, the fear- all he had to do was admit it. All he had to do was put aside his pride and admit it to her.   
  
But he was right- love was a fool’s venture in Gotham and she had played right into its gambit, letting herself be completely, irrevocably engulfed by it.   
  
When she emerges from the shower, cleaned, hair tightly bound in a towel turban, she grabs the manila folder, moving toward the fireplace. She pauses, her wrists retracting in an arc, about to fling it into the flames. She sighs, moving to her bedroom, tucking it under her mattress- she had spent months on it, she told herself, it would be a pity to throw that all away.   
  
She makes herself a new cup of cocoa, conveniently ignoring the gleaming, violet canister that proudly declared the exotic, single origin heritage of its contents in fanciful silver font, heaping a generous amount of the finely milled powder into a large mug. She pours steaming milk over it, her mouth pulling into a grim smile at the rich scent of the cocoa. She reaches for the sugarcubes, wincing slightly at the sight of them: they were encase in a clear, hard acrylic cube, stacked neatly in 5x5 rows, the tightly compressed cubes practically iridescent when it caught the light. She frowned as she plucked them from their casing: they weren’t pure white, but had a pale sepia tone at the bottom, paling into a snowy white in the gentlest of ombres. She studies one before plopping it into the mug. She drops two more cubes into the mug, musing at how many dollars she just stirred into her cup.   
  
Deep down, past all the hurt, all the equivocation and all the meaningless wondering- she knew that he loved her. And yet, she just needed to hear it from his lips.   
  
It wasn’t enough to be loved through material proxies- what good were expensive cocoa mixes and fancy sugar cubes, if the man who sent them couldn’t even have a proper, civil conversation with her?   
  
She takes a sip of the cocoa, marveling at the rich, bitter complexity of the drink, grimacing slightly at the curious aftertaste. She frowns, reaching for the sugar cubes, rolling her eyes when she read the label. Only Oswald would purchase sugar cubes called “London Fog”, blending lavender and vanilla into the palette. She shook her head, sliding it back across the counter to its corner, hesitantly sipping her cocoa again.   
  
This time, she noticed how delicate the scent of lavender was, how the mild floral flavour complemented the harsher, more bitter notes of the cocoa. How the warmth of the vanilla enveloped the subtle sweetness of the sugar.   
  
She allows herself a small, sad smile: even at his most pretentious, Oswald knew how to make an impact on others. The sugar cubes were quite a divine gift, even if she would never admit that to anyone out loud.   
  
She takes another long draw of her cocoa, closing her eyes and letting the flavours wash over her.   
  
\---   
  
When the letter arrives, it instantly stands out, the stark crisp white of the envelope stamped with her name and the words POSTAL DELIVERY FROM BLACKGATE PENITENTIARY emblazoned across the front in chunky capital letters.   
  
He had written to her.   
  
She stares at it on the table: a seemingly innocuous envelope that she half expected would spontaneously combust any moment. She takes a moment to speculate- thinking about what he would possibly say, a foolish, fervent hopefulness temporarily peeking through. This hope was fervent enough that she is disappointed when she finally rips it open, realizing how short his letter actually was:   
  
_I hope you are well._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’ve taken time since our last encounter to really think about your proposition and I accept._ _  
_ _I would like that chance at parole- but I cannot, will not, simply retreat to a perch of luxury and idle my time away. I hope you understand that passivity is not in my nature- never has, never will be- I can not live a life spectating the successes of others, never pursuing my own._ _  
_ _  
_ _If your magnanimity still stands, I would be open to pursuing the option of parole. After all your efforts to sway Jim Gordon, it would be remiss of me to let those efforts go to waste._ _  
_ _  
_ She frowns, noticing a shift in his handwriting as it became a little more untidy, the slanting cursive of his words becoming a bit of a scrawl.   
  
_I apologise for the way things unfolded at our last encounter. I assure you our next meeting will be more productive and will come to some sort of fruition. TIll then, I wish you well._ _  
_ _  
_ She lets his words sink in, before slamming it down onto the counter, moving to do something else to distract herself from the rising wave of emotions.   
  
When she reads his letter again, it has been 2 days and she finally can read it without feeling overwhelmingly upset. She finally picks up the phone, dialing, moving to make the necessary arrangements to embark on the parole process.   
  
\---   
  
When Oswald is told he has a visitor, he sits up instantly, a smile   
  
When he arrives in the room, excitement brimming, all ready to greet her, his face falls when he comes face to face instead with Harvey Dent. Dent nods at him, gesturing for him to sit.   
  
“Why are you here?” he blurts out, his confusion visible on his features. Where was she?   
  
He barely listens to what Dent tells him-that she had contacted Gordon about pursuing parole and that Gordon called in a favour, that a DA would facilitate the parole process better than any other run of the mill attorney. Dent was now his legal representative and would be the sole point of contact for Oswald’s case. He then launches into a long rigmarole about the process, detailing the multiple hoops they would have to jump through, apologetically telling Oswald that the chances of success were slim but _gosh darn it_ , fist hitting the table, they had to try. Oswald listens, or attempts to, trying to quell his disappointment.   
  
“So, questions?” Dent quips, the picture of professionalism, regarding Oswald with a tilt of his head, inquiring.   
  
Oswald shakes his head, sitting up straight. “No, that is all agreeable, thank you.” He inclines his head in a respectful nod, shaking Dent’s extended hand before turning to leave, ignoring his escorts, heading straight to his cell.   
  
Sole point of contact. She had relinquished all   
  
He is upset. Hurt. Confused.   
  
There are no tears this time but he does not sleep, staring up at the dimpled concrete of the ceiling, quietly pondering.   
  
\---   
  
The next morning, she picks up the phone, breath hitching when she hears the lazy operator’s voice speak:   
“Incoming call from Blackgate Penitentiary.”   
  
She freezes, her mind reeling wondering what to do.   
  
“Hello?” the voice drawls, a tinge of impatience.   
  
“S-sure,” she manages, mumbling a quick apology that is not heard as the operator patches her through, the monotonous buzz of the phone line deafening.   
  
Then she hears him say her name and her breath hitches- after all this time, he still had an effect on her.   
  
“Oswald,” she greets, taking care to keep her voice cool, detached.   
  
“I see you’ve relinquished all legal proceedings and administrative matters to Dent,” he starts, his own voice clipped, composed.   
  
“Yes, I thought that it was best handled by someone more capable,” she replies smoothly, her fingers idly playing across the tabletop.   
  
“Have you given up on me then?” he demands suddenly, his tone intense, fervent. It catches her off and she takes a moment to collect her emotions before replying.   
  
“You made it clear during our last meeting and your letter that my adv-my interest was negligible. A hindrance,” she replies icily, her anger slowly coming through.   
  
She could hear him inhale sharply, his own emotions taking charge.   
  
“You know full well how I feel about you,” he replies, seething, all formal demeanour falling away as he gives in to the impulsive frustration that had reared its head.   
  
“Actually, Oswald, I don’t.” she replies, her voice warbling slightly, despite her best efforts to appear aloof.   
  
He protests but she interjects, her voice more emotional.   
  
“I just wanted you back,” she spat, her tone even more unsteady now. “And you threw it in my face. Made me feel like a fool,” her voice finally cracks.   
  
Oswald huffs, upset that the conversation had gone south so far, that she was crying - over him no less- that he could not scoop her into his arms and kiss her tears away.   
  
But his arrogance eclipses his sentimentality and he finds himself saying:   
  
“You were a fool. You should know I care, were the gifts not sufficiently compelling shows of affection?” he could not bring himself to say what they both wanted to hear, afraid of what it would mean, what would transpire.   
  
She is stunned and the silence is deafening. She clears her throat before she speaks again.   
  
“Gifts?” she said with a wild, incredulous laugh, “Seriously, that’s what you think I wanted? “ she curses before she continues. “You know what, Oswald. You’re right. I was and am a fool. But at least I had the courage to own up to it.” she spat, her tears falling. “I loved you, despite everything, despite you leaving. But enough is enough.”   
  
It takes all of her willpower to say the next few words. “I’m done with you, Oswald. I cannot love a man who does not reciprocate, does not want love. I’m done.” she says fiercely, each word laced with ferocity.   
  
He is shaken, the received trembling in his hand. He wants to protest, wants to yell at her, to correct her but instead.   
  
“As you wish,” he spits back, before the line goes dead.   
  
\---   
  
The following week, Oswald receives an effusive letter from the Fulwood Orphanage, thanking him for his generous donation of food and gifts, that the staff and children alike were delighted.   
  
He frowns, perplexed. But then he receives another letter from St. Paul’s Missive for Special Children the following month, thanking him for his donation of meats and cheeses, that the children were in need of protein in these harsh times.   
  
That’s when it finally clicks, what she was doing with his gifts. But he does not cancel them- instead contacting the delicatessens and butchers, requesting that they sent the hampers to orphanages and homes in their locale, much to their bewilderment.   
  
After he hangs up, he does not write more letters and does not make more calls.   
\---   
  
When Dent informs him that their appeal for parole had fallen through, his rage is palpable, an abrupt rupture of pent up frustration that has 3 guards running forward to subdue him as he lunges towards Dent. The latter cringes, shaking his head as he hastily scoops up the paperworking, muttering good riddances as he leaves Oswald fuming.   
When Oswald awakes, the sedative having worn off- he feels nothing.   
  
Absolutely nothing. He is resigned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, yes, those sugar cubes are real. The cocoa was made up though!  
> https://teaspressa.com/collections/luxesugarcubes/products/london-fog-sugar-stick
> 
> Also, in the event it wasn't clear- this fic does not have a happy ending, I'm afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

  
It is the final day of his incarceration and Oswald grunts slightly, exerting himself as he bends over to tie his laces.  
  
Blackgate, while not ideal, had been kind enough to him that he gained a couple of pounds. That’s what he told himself as he huffed, struggling to button his coat.  
  
As he put on his top hat, neatening his hair, a faint memory of her from a decade ago comes to mind. He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of weakness to remember how her fingers felt against his forehead when she brushed hair from his eyes. He brushes aside the memory, adjusting his monocle before he turns to leave the room, ready to face the vultures.  
  
\---  
True to his word to the press, he first goes to his mother’s grave, grasping an overlarge handful of lilies.  
  
He could pick out her grave from a distance, the roughly hewn tomb situated just under a tree, a picturesque final resting place.  
  
He frowns when he realizes that there are already lilies there. Slightly wilted in the cold, but still very fresh. They were newly placed.  
  
He glances around wildly, trying to seek out who his mother’s mysterious visitor was. No one was around for miles, all except a frail, old undertaker who was raking away the dead leaves from neglected graves, a rasping cough punctuating his movements.  
  
He hobbles towards the old man, leaning heavily on his cane, brandishing it at him as he approaches.  
  
“You!” he shouts, gesturing at his mother’s grave, a wild glint in his eye. “Who put those there?” he demanded.  
  
The old man coughed, staring back at him, as if trying to comprehend his words.  
  
“Well?” Oswald pressed,thumping his cane on the ground, as if that would hasten a response.  
  
“She came yesterday I think?” the old man wheezed, scratching his head.  
  
Oswald froze.  
  
 _She._ _  
__  
_“What did she look like?” he asked, his tone urgent, something in his voice changing.  
  
As the old caretaker described her, his mouth fell agape, his heartbeat accelerating.  
  
Without a word of thanks, he sweeps off, moving towards the car, barking at the driver.

He pauses, doubling back to his mother's grave, placing his bouquet down, gently patting the top of her headstone.

_Life only gives us one true love, Oswald, when you find it, run to it._

His mother's words loop in his head as he orders his driver to drive them downtown.

  
\---  
  
It takes some effort but in a few hours, he manages to find her new address. She still stayed in the outskirts but had moved a little closer to a homely little country northwest of Gotham, a county that apparently enjoyed the mild zephyrs of Western winds.  
  
Her house was the last house in the lane, just next to the cul de sac. As he pulls up, he sees her from afar and his chest tightens. He orders the driver to stop some distance away and takes a moment to collect himself.  
  
He neatens himself, pulling his coat down, neatening out any wrinkles, before clambering out of the car. He glances down, suddenly self conscious of his paunch as he leans on his cane, slowly moving towards her.  
  
She looked the same, if a little more weary, but her smile was a little brighter, her eyes twinkling. Her laugh tinkled in the breeze as she called out to someone. He froze when he heard her voice and the name she called.  
  
“Ozzie!” she yelled playfully, walking into the lawn, looking around. Unbeknownst to her, the little dark haired boy was hiding in his play house and was waiting for his mother to come into view before barrelling towards her with a shout of laughter, burying his face in her abdomen as she embraced him.  
  
Oswald’s heart skipped a beat as he watched her ruffle the boy, _Ozzie’s_ hair, gently brushing his fringe away from his eyes. The boy was pale, a little plump. He looked like….Oswald felt a lump grow in his throat, confusion mounting.  
  
It was at that moment that the boy noticed Oswald from afar and he tugged at his mother’s cardigan, pointing at him.  
  
“Mom! There’s a strange man watching us!” he hollered, his proclamation making Oswald panic, wondering if he should take his leave.  
  
She sighs heavily, patting his shoulder. “Ozzie, we keep telling you, there’s no such thing-” The words die in her throat as she looks up and meets his gaze.  
  
He had no choice now.  
  
Oswald takes a moment to steel himself before he walks over to them, a broad, plastic smile plastered on his mug.  
  
“Greetings,” he says with overt cheeriness, taking off his hat, nodding at the little boy, then at her, never meeting her gaze head on.  
  
“Who are you?” the boy demanded, gazing curiously at Oswald, taking in his strange attire, a hand creeping forward to feel the rich, heavy brocade of his plum waistcoat.  
  
“I’m-” Oswald starts, stuttering, his voice faltering as he looks up at her, at a loss.  
  
“Is he-” he whispers, looking at the young boy again, his striking eyes and shock of dark hair all too familiar.  
  
Before she can reply, someone else emerges from the house and the boy is gone, shooting towards the tall man with a shout of joy.  
  
“DAD LOOK, THE MONOPOLY MAN CAME TO VISIT!” Ozzie exclaimed excitedly, practically bouncing on his heels, tugging at the man’s sweater, dragging him towards them.  
  
Oswald’s heart sank, any sliver of hope unspooling like a heavy anchor in his gut.  
  
The man came over to stand next to her, a hand sliding about her waist, a motion that betrayed familiarity. Oswald’s chest tightened as he saw her subconsciously lean into him, a hand on her son’s shoulder.  
  
“Adam, Ozzie, this is Oswald,” she manages, a small smile on her face. “He’s an old friend,”  
  
Adam’s face instantly lights up with recognition and the shock is instant, but he masks it quickly, running a hand through his medium length, shaggy dark hair, laughing nervously before extending a hand to Oswald.  
  
“Oswald, I’ve heard a lot about you, Adam,” he says with a congenial nod and a warm smile. Oswald accepts the handshake, his own hand dwarfed by Adam’s. The man was well over six feet tall, with a broad chest and strong handsome features and intense dark eyes. Oswald’s eyes flicker back to Ozzie, noticing with a pang that the boy resembled his mother and father in so many ways- his mother’s smile, his father’s strong jaw, his father’s dark hair.  
  
How could he have mistaken him for his own son?  
  
Adam watches him, awkwardly standing around before pulling away, tugging at Ozzie. “Let’s give Mommy a moment to catch up with her friend, okay champ?” he says, squatting down to address the boy. Ozzie pouts petulantly, shaking his head, brandishing a finger at Oswald.  
  
“But Dad, it’s the _Monopoly_ man, except he walks funny! I want to touch his eye!” Ozzie protests, whinging. Adam covers Ozzie’s mouth, mortified at his callous remark, shooting a quick apology at Oswald, before hauling Ozzie over his shoulder and pulling him indoors, ignoring the frenzied screeching of the little boy who “wanted to touch the golden eye thing”. Adam struggles to keep the boy on his shoulder as Ozzie clawed at his father’s back, dragging up the back of his sweater, trying to gain purchase to find his way down, inevitably revealing his father’s back. A very broad, tanned and muscled expanse of back, Oswald notes, his insecurities resurfacing.  
  


As the door shuts behind them, the silence is unnerving.  
  
Oswald clears his throat as she pulls her cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders, looking at the ground.  
  
“So I heard you got released today,” she offers, a small smile on her lips as she looks at him. “Congratulations,”  
  
He nods, taking a moment to phrase his words before meeting her eyes. “It’s been a while,” he starts, moving a little closer to her, hurt when she moves back a little in response.  
  
“Why are you here, Oswald?” she asks, her voice firm but soft, her eyes large, questioning.  
  
Oswald smiles, a sarcastic grin, a facade. “It was my mother’s birthday yesterday,” he remarks, nodding at her. “You knew this. You visited her grave.”  
  
She purses her lips, shrugging. “Just paying my respects,” she says coolly, the lie evident.  
  
He stares back at her, his face betraying his growing vulnerability.  
  
“Why did you visit her?” he asks point blank, eyes boring into hers.  
  
“Like I said, paying my respects,” she repeats, the words falling weakly between them, the lie glaringly obvious.  
  
Oswald shakes his head with a huffing laugh, nodding.  
  
“You have a family now,” he ventures, gesturing at the house, where several loud thumping footsteps could be heard, a scream of laughter interjecting Adam’s shouts of admonition, Ozzie’s giggles audible.  
  
“I do,” she says softly, watching him, seeing his face soften, sadness eclipsing his features.  
  
“Why are you here, Oswald?” she repeats, her voice a little more assertive, stepping in front of him, forcing him to look at her.  
  
“Because,” he starts, his eyes falling to the ground as he continued, feeling more and more foolish, humiliated.  
  
She notices this and steps forward gently taking his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.  
  
“Why did you come all the way out here, Oswald?” she murmurs, trying to get him to look at her.  
  
Oswald sniffs, tearing up, trying to keep it in as he meets her gaze, struck by how close she was standing now.  
  
“Because I wanted to see you,” he manages softly, tearing his gaze away from the ground, giving her a hand a small, tight squeeze before letting it go abruptly.  
  
“But I should go now,” he says with a shaky laugh, turning to leave, hobbling off. “It was good to see you!”  
  
She moves after him, gently grabbing his arm, but abruptly letting go of it as if it were red hot.  
  
“You...you could stay for dinner.” she offers weakly, a pale consolation. “Adam um, he made his famous Austrian beef stew with sourdough. Ozzie helped with the bread,” she continues, her voice getting smaller as she realizes the futility of her offer.  
  
They both realize that this was the wrong thing to say as Oswald rounds on her, face contorted with rage and hurt, the intensity of his reaction making her recoil, stepping back.  
  
“Dinner?” he hollers, “You want me to stay for dinner? With _Adam?”_ he says derisively, his tone savage. “And...and Ozzie,” his voice falters, softens at the boy’s name.  
  
He holds her gaze again, his own more steely, stern this time.  
  
“Why did you name him after-” he began, frowning when she interrupts.  
  
“ Ben.” she clarifies, clearing her throat. “Benjamin Osbourne, that’s his name,” she says with a nod. “But he likes being called Ozzie,” she says softly.  
  
He stares at her, tears now trickling down his face as he glances down, all dignity and pride gone.  
  
“I guess there is nothing left for me to say,” he murmurs bitterly, sniffing.  
  
She shifts uncomfortably, holding herself.  
  
“I’m sorry, Oswald,” she says softly, temporarily forgetting herself and reaching out to gently cup his face, gently running her thumb across his cheek like she used to. Even now, she could not help but lapse into old habits.  
  
Oswald leans into her hand for a moment, reaching up to cover her hand with his, holding onto it even as she lowers it, motioning for her to proffer her other hand, holding both of her hands in his, warming them.  
  
“Do you love him?” he asks softly, eyes flickering towards the house.  
  
“I do,” she says softly, saddened, a familiar pang in her chest as he holds her hands, gently stroking her knuckles. “He’s a good man and he treats me well. He adores Ozzie,” she says with a small smile, her own voice warbling slightly.  
  
Oswald laughs, swallowing a sob, giving her hands a final, lingering squeeze. “That’s good,” he replies. He looks up, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

“I’m happy for you,” he says softly, looking into her eyes, his own chest threatening to crack from sorrow, regret.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing his hands back, absently moving to thread her fingers through his.  
  
They stay like that for a moment, hands intertwined, just basking in each other’s presence.  
  
She’s the first to pull away, arms immediately moving to pull her cardigan about her, shivering slightly.  
  
“I...I really should go back,” she says with a nod, watching him.  
  
Oswald doesn’t reply immediately but eventually looks up at her, giving her a wan smile. “As you should,” he concurs, giving her a false, broad cheery smile.  
  
She reciprocates with a weak smile of her own, already starting to move back.  
  
“Goodbye, Oswald,” she says softly, hesitating, before moving forward to press a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek before pulling away swiftly, retreating to her home without a backward glance at Oswald. Adam is at the door, waiting for her, welcoming her back in with a warm embrace, shutting the door behind them.   
  
Oswald stares after her, waiting till the door shuts behind her before he turns on his heel, moving back to the car, his tears finally falling as he turns his back on a vision of what could have been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sticking with me till the end with this fic. 
> 
> I'm sorry the ending is a little sad- rest assured this is not the last you've seen of Oswald! I plan to do another fic that deals with another potential story arc- one with a happy ending :)


End file.
